Thursday, 31 December 2015

In the early days of losing Annalee, all I wanted was for this year to be over- to just make it to the end. This was the worst year of our lives.

It's funny how time gives you perspective. Now, on the last day of 2015, I'm a bit sad to see the year end. In some ways, it was the best year of our lives. Close friends got married, we traveled, we had our first baby. Among the excruciating heartbreak and sadness, there was so much joy. It feels good to be in a place where we can focus on the positives.

We're not the same people we were a year ago. We're broken, but stronger and filled with more love than ever before.

Six months was really tough- like, month one kinda tough. I'm not sure if it was because it was so close to Christmas or if the idea of half a year going by already was just too overwhelming. I also think 6 months is such a great age for babies. They're doing so much by then- it's hard to think about all of the milestones we're missing with Annalee.

Eric and I had a little mini Christmas for her. Friends and family got her presents- a grizzly bear adopted in her name, a book, a star named after her. I think the thing that makes us happiest is that people still think of Annalee. They remember her birthdays, they think of her when they hear music and they keep her in their hearts. Those are the things that keep our little girl's spirit alive and that's all we can ever ask for.

Tuesday, 8 December 2015

We took a little extra care of ourselves on the 20th. We went for a nice lunch and a couples massage- which is quickly becoming a favorite thing. After that we went and picked out a few Christmas ornaments for Annalee.

We picked up a fluffy sheep for the year she was born and this robin. After we lost Annalee, a big robin kept appearing in our yard. If I was in the kitchen, it would sit on the back fence so I could see her; if I was on the front porch, she'd sit on the railing and keep me company. When Eric and I went to buy a bench for the backyard for Annalee, we were halfheartedly looking at birdbaths when a great big robin landed in one and started bathing itself. I had never seen a bird bathe before and both of us were killing ourselves laughing. We both knew it was our baby making her presence known.

Thursday, 3 December 2015

I've been back at work for a month now and it has been a really nice distraction. The first few weeks were hard. Really hard. There was a lot of crying in the bathroom and going home mid-panic attack, but things have started to normalize now. It feels good to focus on something else for hours at a time each day. That's not to say that I don't think of Annalee all the time, but there's a little less dwelling on the heartbreak- at least until I crawl into bed and my mind quiets for a moment and then goes immediately back to being sad and confused and entirely overwhelmed.

Eric and my experiences going back to work were very different. Eric went back three weeks after we lost Annalee, so naturally, it was still very front of mind for him and his colleagues. He works in a smaller office than I do which I think contributed to the difference as well. People came into his office and wanted to talk to him about Annalee and what happened. He would come home and tell me how much he got to talk about her, so when I went back, I expected the same thing. There was a lot less of that for me. Aside from my close friends, one person has asked about Annalee. This is not to say that people haven't been amazing. I've been welcomed back with such open arms and everyone has been so kind. It just wasn't what I was expecting (I'm starting to sense a theme here).

In the same breath, as much as I wanted people to acknowledge her photo in my office and talk to me about her, I also actively avoided situations where I might have to talk about our experience. I've skipped social events and large meetings; there may have been an instance where I faked being on the phone just to get out of talking about anything.

It would seem that even five months out, I have no idea what I want. Things that might help us one day, seem like a burden the next.